


Occupying Space

by mythomagicallydelicious



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Background Dying, Bajorans, Cardassians, Character Death, Duet, Exceptional Record Keeping, F/M, Gallitep, Guilt, Non-Graphic Violence, Occupation of Bajor, Second Skin, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-13
Updated: 2018-10-22
Packaged: 2019-01-16 18:32:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12348255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mythomagicallydelicious/pseuds/mythomagicallydelicious
Summary: AU where Iliana Ghemor and Aamin Marritza met at three distinct places of life.





	1. Not a Word Spoken

 

Years ago, in the dark office of the most brutal, deadliest of prison camps on Bajor, two Cardassians met. One was in disguise, wearing a Bajoran skin, living the hardship of her borrowed people. The other was desperately wishing to be able to claw his skin from his body, rip each scale off one by one, anything to alleviate the guilt of what he allowed to happen in front of him to a defenseless people.

They shared no words, then. They may not have even made eye contact. They occupied the same space, for a time, and that was all.

It was like this.

She was undercover, a deep, deep cover where she could not even remember herself. Iliana joined the resistance and worked against their Cardassian oppressors, completely submerged in this new ideology, completely ignorant of her own heritage.

On one mission she was captured. Taken to the Gallitep labor camp. It was brutal. All workers under the thumb of Gul Darhe’el. A tyrant who relished in displaying his power.

Iliana, through complete chance, managed to avoid the mines. She, along with three other randomly selected Bajorans, were subscripted to work in the office facilities of the camp. To report every morning to the main building while their friends were forced to hard labor below. They had clerical duties to perform. If you failed in a task, you were replaced and switched with a mine worker.

Iliana was a natural at keeping records. She showed up daily to her assigned task and fulfilled her assignments effectively, with great precision. She snuck the extra rations they were given indoors back to the barracks every night, taking care of the less fortunate miners around her. She was selfless, and those at the camp appreciated every kindness.

(There was no energy for bitterness among the Bajorans. But if there were, it is also note-worthy that those indoors were not spared from the cruelty of the Cardassian overseers, it was just in different forms. And despite the thick walls, one could still hear the screams and wailing throughout the camp. Pain permeated the air, driven on by Gul Darhe’el and his ruthlessness. They also knew the office workers were abused in their own ways. All Bajorans shared the burden of suffering on the same slumped shoulders.)

It was like this.

A young man named Aamin Marritza enlisted himself into the military service, because that was his duty, what he was supposed to do. He’d always been a follower. He followed all the other boys to the military academy, and on to the service. But he never got a taste for it. He did not long for the battle, for the glory. He did not own the blood lust like many of his class did. As a result he stayed in a low rank, relegated to office work, mostly.

He did not mind. He was an exceptional record keeper. Never lost a single file, not once in his entire term of service. (Not even when he desperately wanted to).

Aamin Marritza didn’t have the stomach for war. He could just barely fake his indifference. He could bear it. But he did not like it.

Unfortunately, his task was made more difficult when he realized they were not at war.

Aamin Marritza was assigned to one of the most ruthless guls in the Cardassian military. His assignment was clerical in nature—to be the record keeper, a messenger, the office boy. To carry out orders and to follow what he was told.

Aamin Marritza was an exceptional record keeper, and an exceptional follower. He slid on a mask and followed his orders to the letter.

But he knew as he did so they were not at war with the Bajorans. Every report that came across his terminal only confirmed it.

They were slaughtering the Bajorans. With no reason but to rub in their supposed ‘species superiority’!

Daily, Marritza could hear the moaning and wailing of the Bajoran people. The sound of death and smell of pain permeated the air of the camp. It never let up, it never went away. Daily he saw reports of the hundreds of thousands of dead men, women, and children. And he kept perfect, pristine record of every foul act done against them.

Aamin Marritza lay awake all night, unable to get used to the tormented screams of the planet. The very ground being torn apart and used, just as its people were.

Aamin Marritza went to his station every morning, hardly saying a word to any, ashamed to his core.

But he did his duty. And wept for forgiveness every night as the screams grew louder, ringing in his ears.


	2. Under a Different Sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Upon the sands of their home planet, two Cardassians meet and their lives are inexplicably changed once again.

Years later, on the firm sand under a hot sun hung low in the sky, two Cardassians met. A river low in its banks snaked its way across the landscape. There were a few desert flowers in bloom, bright spots on the dull landscape. Aamin Marritza was sitting on a small sandy hill overlooking the low depression of the ground. He held a PADD in one hand but his eyes never once strayed to it. Patches of desert grass drew his attention, eyes boring into the stark landscape before him.

It was a lonely place, far outside the minor city nearest to the location. Aamin came here most days, when he could. In the afternoons and staying until well past dusk. Walking home in the dark, often.

He did not notice that for many days, now, he was accompanied by a shadow.

 

Iliana had re-explored the city a hundred times over. It no longer held the interest or intrigue she’d had for it in her first life. She appreciated her father’s attempts to alleviate the restlessness, but she just couldn’t feel fully _right_ in the city limits any longer.

One late afternoon she took to straying further and further from the city, following the small river to keep her way.

It was there she found the low valley. A depression of the land surrounding the river. Here, at this particular bend of the river, life bloomed. Sparse patches of desert grass dotted the hot sand. Beautiful flowers—a rare sight, so far from the cultivation of their cities—livened the grounds. There weren’t many, but what flowers were there captured the eye and softened the stark countryside of Cardassia.

Walking further, she went to the next ridge and sat down there to enjoy the evening sun on her neck, and admire the grounds before her.

Something about this hillside calmed her restless spirit. It was the closest to peace she’d felt since shedding her second skin, becoming most of the person she’d been born again.

Before her thoughts turned to further introspection, she saw a figure approaching, cresting the same low dune she had a half hour ago. Iliana watched as he stopped at the top of the low rise and sat in the sand, the same way she was, currently. He had a PADD in hand but his eyes never looked to it. He seemed to be mumbling or singing or humming under his breath, Iliana couldn’t tell. His eyes took in the scant beauty around him.

Iliana watched him watch the land. At one point, despite the less severe heat, she thought she saw him wipe sweat from his ridges.

He stayed there until well past nightfall before standing and picking his way back towards the brightness of the city in the distance. Iliana followed, not having wanted to startle him with her appearance.

Iliana made her way to that hillside often, after that.

More often than not, the man was there, too. Always with the PADD he never looked at, always seeming to bury himself into the dune, and always wiping the sweat from his ridges – (on one particularly cold day, a day she’d gotten closer to the man than she usually dared, she heard an accompanying sniffle with the gesture and realized he’d been crying small, silent tears every time he visited the valley. Iliana was embarrassed for herself and for him, but she didn’t stop following him out there).

Mindful of her father’s position, and her own former training, Iliana knew she could discover who this man was if she was determined to do so. But she didn’t really want to. Something about the man intrigued her, like pulling at a half-forgotten memory. She wanted to meet him, then know him. Not the other way around.

 

One afternoon Aamin Marritza made his way to the valley, PADD of names in hand. He counted the number of steps it took him and mentally filed that number away. (He truly was an excellent filer). He took up his customary spot on the warm sand and looked out at the small miracle of life in such a desolate landscape. It reminded him of the determination of the Bajorans to continue surviving, despite all odds. The sparse moments of beauty among an otherwise scarred populace and world.

He sat on the low hill and began the chant, giving final rites to a new list of names, today. Names he’d filed with precision. Names he’d looked at and understood why they were before him. Names of the slaughtered and brutalized people of Bajor. Names he’d done nothing to help.

His grip tightened and relaxed on the small PADD. His voice trembled as the last words of the rites came out of him, wiping a few tears from his eyes that always accompanied his visits.

He stayed longer, just surveying the land, when he heard the approach of another and he stood, immediately on guard.

Aamin Marritza turned and saw a young woman standing a few meters from him. Her body language was open and friendly, softly whispering _not a threat_ to him. Still, he kept his stance guarded. He had not once run into another soul since he started coming here, and he didn’t trust this sudden appearance now.

“Hello,” she began. “My name is Ghemor. Is the countryside not beautiful, here?” she asked, smiling softly.

Looking around, he nodded. “Yes, it is indeed.” He lapsed into silence, staring not quite at Ghemor, but not quite away. She took a few steps closer and smiled larger. “And your name, man?”

“Marritza.”

Ghemor’s eyes lit up for a moment. “Ah, the professor of records, no?”

Aamin was a bit surprised she knew this of him. He countered her question with his own, though. “The daughter of a Legate, no?”

She nodded, looking down the hill to a patch of desert grass where bloomed an orange and yellow beauty.

“Please, I did not intend to interrupt. May we sit and continue to enjoy the view?”

Aamin considered, then nodded. They sat with a meter of space between them, the warm Cardassian sun to their backs as they viewed the countryside.

“What brings you to this valley?” Aamin asked, curiosity of her appearance taking precedence over his own conscience for the moment.

Ghemor took a moment to consider before answering, hand idly scooping and playing in the sand.

“I felt…restless, in the city. I have been since I returned home. There was no peace for me, there. So one day I followed the river out and found this,” she gestured with her other hand to the land around them. “It is the closest to peace I’ve felt since the – since the war.” Ghemor stumbled over last words, but Aamin understood her feelings plainly.

He felt similarly to the woman. The valley provided the only rest he could hope for. An oasis, an escape from the constricting air of the city, the oppressive architecture a reminder of where he’s been, what he’s done.

At least in the wilderness he could admit the pain following orders caused him and countless others.

But as Marritza thought, he said nothing. How could this woman know his pain? How could she understand the screams that haunted him, even then…

“If I may ask, why do you come to the valley, Marritza?” Aamin tightened his hold on the PADD and looked away. For a moment the air felt stiff and lifeless, and the smell of burning filled his nostrils. Dark memories overlaid his vision and he struggled to breathe.

He felt a pressure at his elbow. Ghemor was speaking in a low voice to him, telling him to breathe, instructing him to follow her soft orders, trying to help him. Aamin Marritza was a good follower. He listened to her words and pulled himself from his memories, breathing evening out and mind returning to the present. When he could, he nodded a discreet thank you to Ghemor, which she acknowledged with a knowing look and a sad smile.

He was embarrassed, though. He had managed not to break any other time he was asked of the war. But being asked here, the only place he allowed himself to grieve the senselessness of it…it cracked him open for this stranger to see. And that had not even been her question. He feared needing to find someplace new, now that this woman knew him, could expose his inadequacies. But then she spoke again and those fears ground to a halt.

“I take it you served as well, then?” She picked up a patch of sand and let it slide slowly between her fingers. “I also _served_. But beyond that, I think we can both agree that we hated the – I don’t think it’s fair to call it a _war_ , is it?” She looked at him before continuing. Aamin did not need to wonder if his eyes mirrored the same fractured look present in hers, the kindred brokenness pouring from both of their features.

She gave a huff of a laugh before she began speaking again, but with no humor it turned into a sigh.

“I was an exceptional file keeper. My assignment took me to a lot of dangerous situations. But because of that skill, I was able to escape the worst of the tortures offered. But that did not stop me from living a half-life.” She paused, hand crushing around the sand and allowing it to trickle slowly from her fingers. “The screaming, the crying, the pain. So much suffering. The pointless brutality and _cruelty_. I see it all the time, in my mind.” Out of sand, she began to smooth the pile she’d created, circling in the warm sand. “All the people I tried to help, but couldn’t. Everything I did wrong. The people I betrayed…but something about this valley gives me a sense of rest.” She looked up into Aamin’s eyes before turning to look out over the valley, the sun setting the desert blooms on fire as it sunk lower in the sky. “It reminds me of Bajor in a way that goes beyond the pain. Or maybe lets me openly grieve for it.”

She turned again to smoothing the sand at her side. Aamin had been staring at the space between them as she spoke, looking up into her eyes once, as she paused. The knot of fear in his chest unraveled as a spark of kinship ignited. Hesitantly, he let go of the PADD and went to brush at the sand between them, making his own patterns. He stared at where her hand had gone still as he spoke.

“I feel the same way. In the city, we are not allowed to recognize ourselves as monsters. Out here I can try to make it right. Show the regret. Acknowledge the loss.”

Ghemor’s hand began moving once more. Together they built the sand up and then smoothed it down. They said no more and Aamin appreciated the silence.

What more words could be shared between them? It went against nearly every Cardassian cultural convention to have revealed so much personal information upon first meeting another. But Aamin couldn’t work himself up to care. He went to the countryside to escape Cardassia. He went there to escape from himself. There, he met another trying to come to terms with the horrors they’d committed and seen. Her eyes lit with the same depth of understanding, her words a strange reflection of his own thoughts. The first companion who could relate to himself in a significant way.

As night came upon them, Aamin sighed. He needed to return to his house. There was work to be done and students to teach, life to keep dragging him on. He stood and picked up the PADD, turning to offer a hand to Ghemor. She accepted and for a moment they stood, looking at each other in the twilight.

He moved to offer his elbow and she accepted, lacing an arm through his own. He still spoke the words, even after they were already connected.

“May I escort you, Ghemor?”

Ghemor smiled and pretended to think about it before nodding. That made Aamin smile, just the smallest bit, as she replied. “Yes, you may, Marritza.”

And they began the journey back to the city.

 

Over the next several weeks, in the warm sun of the countryside, two Cardassians met. One shared his ritual with the other, showing her the endless lists of names he was trying to give rites to. She put a hand to her mouth and teared up, overwhelmed by his actions towards her former people. She later shared her own history, how becoming a Bajoran had left her with little love for her home race, how she lived and dealt with becoming two separate people. How she was trying to reconcile both parts of her into who she was now.

One late afternoon they discovered their shared history in the Gallitep camp. Earlier words of _I was an exceptional record keeper_ came back and a side of hysterical laughter accompanied the recollection. They were both there. They occupied the same space, at the same time. They witnessed the same horrors that haunt them. By chance of the universe they were both aligned in a position of desperate fear and regret and pain.

They both cried, at the realization. The spark of kinship from their first meeting had grown into a low flame to warm their hands by the time this came to light. No shame for their actions, they cried and spoke in broken voices what they had dared never say before. What they had only thought.

 

Together they grieved and begged the universe forgiveness.

Together they began to try to rebuild their lives in the face of their grief and regret.

Together they found love from their brokenness.


	3. For Peace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iliana and Aamin meet many times over the next several years, changed.

They met in many times over the next few years. They met in the desert, they met in the city. They met in the home and the bed of the other. They married, and they built a life together, as much as they could. Their shared connection was the foundation of their relationship. But beyond that each found love in the other’s heart and mind. They found strength in arms that carried them through sorrow and through good times. They found comfort and they almost found peace, in that time.

Their union was witnessed by Marritza’s housekeeper, and officiated by Ghemor’s father. Their love is a low burning fire. Enough to keep the two of them warm, but always in danger of being snuffed out. The Order wouldn’t be pleased with their former agent’s entanglement. And each have their own weights pressing against them, trying to break them apart. But they cling together, sure of their connection. Even more sure than their family bonds.

They continued the ritual that brought them to know one another. Iliana accompanied her husband to the place outside of the city, following the river, and adding her voice to the death chant, granting the victims their due to the Prophets. Together they grieved and together they allowed themselves to start building past that.

But within those first few years, sometimes she could feel Aamin drawing away from her. She could feel a dark veil go up between them, one her words couldn’t pierce. She felt more than sadness envelope her husband. She saw despair and anger twist him into knots. Carefully spoken words with body language that spoke volumes more than they were allowed to say. Anger towards their government, towards the military, towards the lack of culpability Cardassia took in their own mistaken path.

Within the last year it had been getting worse. Iliana felt less like she could comfort him, less like he was turning to her to share his burdens. She felt his grief starting to consume him. There were days when he seemed clear-headed and repentant of those thoughts, feelings. Apologizing for being so absent-minded. For being distant and inattentive. But it wasn’t until just before everything changed that he was both the most distracted and yet the most clear.

When Marritza left, she assumed he’d gone to the valley on his own. He’d been doing that more often, of late. He’d been restless. He’d go to the valley earlier in the day and stay longer into the evening, despite the chill. She gifted him a stronger jacket and he still forgot it as he went. She sighed and went about the process of fixing dinner. Usually Marritza would cook for them, a joy he took in very few things was evident in his cooking. But Iliana was not inept, and she fixed dinner for the two of them and waited.

She ate her own portion and stowed his to be reheated in the morning. Most of the ingredients had been fresh, not replicated. She wanted to share in his meal, even if he was late. She waited longer.

But he did not meet her at home. The next morning dawned and she was alone. She went from room to room, carefully checking for any sign of his presence. He had retired from teaching at the University after the last term, he had no reason to be there. As she checked over the house, she realized it was past time for Zanara to begin her duties in their household. But she had not shown up.

Worry grew in Iliana’s thoughts as she grabbed the jacket she’d gifted to Aamin, pulling it over her frame and setting out for Zanara’s residence. It was not far, but the morning was gray and threatened rain. It appeared the warmth of the season was drawing to a close too soon for her tastes.

Iliana was met with a closed door at Zanara’s residence, and a message that said she was out of the city for the next two weeks, unreachable. Frustrated she headed out of the city, following the river, just to be sure he had not spent the night in the shallow valley.

The only sign of his presence was a depression in the sand where they usually knelt. The very same dune where they first met, what seemed like so many years ago. Iliana looked all around, calling out in a low voice, but she saw no sign of him.

But she had not been a member of the Obsidian Order for nothing. She returned home, making use of as many former contacts as she could, calling favors and debts in as she searched for any news on where Marritza went. Her search consumed her. But her husband had hidden his trail well. His workstation was cleared of any incriminating documents or crumbs of a trail that could lead to what he did. She searched carefully for any travel plans or connections he might have made over the last several months, but there was nothing. His filing was impeccable and impossible to pull apart.

But finally, after almost two weeks, she discovered a lead. A prisoner had been taken aboard the former Cardassian command point during the Occupation. The one Starfleet and Bajor now commanded. She heard tell that the prisoner suffered from Kohlinar, just as she knew her husband did. He’d been detained when he went aboard to procure medicine for his condition, under the name—

Iliana leapt from her station, swiping the screen closed without even a thank you to the informant that had passed it along. She called her father, requesting emergency transport upon whatever vessel was closest, and he procured the clearance for her to leave aboard it, a trading ship on its way back into Federation space.

Her mind raced with a thousand thoughts and questions as the ship hurtled through space. She had no time to be apprehensive of being among Bajorans again, of survivors of their terrible conflict, of being aboard the station where a Cardassian even crueler than Darhe'el had resided and commanded the deaths and torture and humiliation of millions. She thought only of her husband, of his guilt, of his increasing desire to see justice done and the signs he’d shown for so long and she’d ignored. Had willfully looked past in honor of needing to believe it meant he would eventually move on, make peace, as she had.

Iliana prayed to the Prophets that the Bajorans would treat her husband’s false image more fairly than his façade deserved. She prayed she could make them understand he was harmless, that he was not who he seemed. That he was not who he claimed. That he may deserve death, just as all Cardassians did, but not this week, not under a fake face in an attempt to make Cardassia accept their blame. Iliana understood where Aamin must have stood for months, planning this endeavor. She prayed she would be able to bring him home in peace.

It was there, on the cold gray floor of the space station, where two Cardassians met for the final time. Iliana rushed from her transport, down to the cells, but was stopped short at the scene before her. She saw what was happening but could no more stop it than any other could. She called out to her precious husband and his head jerked up, surprise written across his face. That’s when the blade struck, a Bajoran slicing between the scaled ridges of his back and up, twisting it in to leave a large gash upon his back. His face contorted in pain and he fell, a shout at his lips.

A Bajoran woman crouched beside him, trying to staunch the blood flow, yelling orders out to those around her. Iliana barely saw the shifter capture the man with the knife. She had eyes only for Aamin. The crowd tried pushing her back as they stampeded away, but she forced herself through, eyes only for the man she promised to dedicate herself to.

The Bajoran major was holding her hands to his wound, trying to staunch the blood flow. She cried out for some doctor even as Aamin’s breathing slowed. Iliana fell to her knees beside them, one hand to Aamin’s hand, another to his face.

His face was not his own. It was the face of her tormentor, their tormentor, the Bajoran peoples’ cruel slave driver. Gul Darhe'el. Despite that she could see the dying spark of light in his eyes. The love and regret between them. He was mumbling something about _peace_ and _blame_ and Iliana knew she would struggle with both of those concepts for long after her husband’s heart stopped beating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been very interesting for me to write. I'd love to explore their story more in the future, maybe a different ending than canon where Marritza lives, and things actually change sooner, for the better. But all in all, thank you to everyone who read and commented or left kudos!! They meant the world to me to see someone else liked this small ship between characters that would never? have met otherwise. Thanks for sticking with me! 
> 
> (And I'm sorry my last update was Nov 7th of last year to now... it did not feel that long when I was procrastinating finishing it, ha)


End file.
